


Two Dead Husks and a Random Mithrandir

by chiliadicorum



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ezellohar, Fourth Age, Gen, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 20:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15565356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiliadicorum/pseuds/chiliadicorum
Summary: Elrond is not in the best of moods tonight and that annoys him in itself because he shouldn't be upset, not here. This is Valinor, for Valar's sake. Mithrandir decides to manifest himself to see if he can nudge him out of it.





	Two Dead Husks and a Random Mithrandir

 

He had been sitting on that stretch of hilltop for at least an hour. Prone as he was to losing himself in his musings, he was not so lacking as others as to lose sense of the passage of time. And even if so, his grey palfrey happily obliged to remind him of the nearing midnight hour, becoming more annoying with each persistent nudge of her muzzle to his left shoulder. She did it again and Elrond leaned away, glaring up at her.

"I know! I know we must go. Stop reminding me." He eased his voice to gentleness, too fond of the horse to be too flustered, though he still refused to pet her. Maybe she just wanted an apple. Maybe it was a sign that the living beings in Valinor were softer than those in Middle-earth, because he could swear that their horses and other such endearing creatures were more demanding of treats than in life before. Or maybe he was just being bitter.

"Elrond, Elrond, where has your warmth gone?" The familiar voice came from behind, warm itself and carrying great fondness.

Elrond stiffened, frowning as he twisted around. "Mithrandir?" he said with a little surprise and in no little confusion. He had not seen him since their disembarking on the bays of Tol Eressëa all those years ago, when the joys of reunion for himself and all those who sailed with him had grown rapturous and the Maia had gone his own way. Elrond stared at the whitened hair and full beard, at his stooping frame and the wise, olden features of his face. His frown deepened. "Why do you yet clad yourself in that form? Say not you cannot leave it."

He added the last more in jest and Mithrandir chuckled, shifting his heavy robes before lowering himself to hunker down next to him in the ankle-deep snow. "Hardly. But in my true form, even as I appear to you mirroanwi, you would not be speaking with one whom you know, would you?"

Elrond gave a small smile. "Think you I am so shallow?"

Mithrandir's own smile deepened, reaching up to his bright eyes. "Ah, I have missed you, my friend. And no. But I know from my Ages of dwelling with you Elves before my coming to Middle-earth that it takes some time to adjust, even though it has been years. For all your life, my People were but names recorded in your lore and seeing us in person is quite different, even one whom you saw in likeness of a Man."

"It has been years." Elrond glanced suspiciously behind him at his mount, who was now leaving him be and just swishing her tail. "Years since last we spoke, long enough I no longer count the years."

"Years you deserved to rest in with your Celebrían," he said warmly. "But come, you did not answer. What do you here all alone? Are you not supposed to be in Lórien?"

"Yes." Tension he had not even been aware had left at the Maia's arrival returned swiftly and it was an effort to not let it rise to the surface.

Mithrandir regarded him calmly, his eyes shining in that all too perceptive way Elrond was never sure if he liked or not. "Hm. Yet you are not."

Elrond glanced at him and resisted a sigh, looking back out to the sight of legend before him. "I had a disagreement with Lord Irmo's  _Master_  Healers." He could not resist the sarcastic lilt in his voice. Yes, petty, but he was alone, unhappy, sitting in wet snow in the dead of night, so he did not care.

"Oh? Care to share? You know I will listen."

Elrond lifted an eyebrow at the tone, the small smile reappearing. "You sound as if you already know."

"Perhaps I do, but I can see it festering in you. You know talking relieves much restlessness, if you want to."

"No."

Mithrandir let out that subtle, rumbling chuckle deep in his chest, one so familiar that it sent Elrond off kilter for a moment. "Oh Elrond, so long has it been since I heard you so aggravated. I think I missed it." He looked both amused and endeared at the same time. "I will speak of it no more tonight, save only to lecture you to be of greater cheer. The Merendë Andohrívëo is in three days and your current mood is hardly one of celebration."

He sighed truly this time, in chagrin and a little tired. "I know. I am returning to Tol Eressëa to spend it with Celebrían. Gil-galad wrote he is planning a few hearty festivities of his own, so I look forward to it." He squinted off into the distance, contemplative. "I am surprised Lord Irmo allowed me to leave. I was hardly polite and I do not believe he approved of my departure, at least in the way I did it. I know not if I am angrier with him or his healers."

Mithrandir squeezed his shoulder. "I would say his healers, for I know Lord Irmo better than you. But let it go for now, my friend. Take joy in the festival and try to spend it in peace."

Elrond nodded. "Hence my return to Tol Eressëa."

"And quite the detour you are taking to see yourself there, if I may say, riding this far northward." Mithrandir turned to him fully, his expression turning somber, maybe even a little concerned. "Why did you come here? This is hardly a place of merriment, or a place to inspire such."

Elrond looked back out to Ezellohar, at the two dead husks of gigantic proportions standing coupled together on their mound mantled in white. Even from this distance Elrond could easily discern which one was Telperion, for its shade of color was a little subtler, a little more grey even in death than that of Laurelin's. No one was here, the vast expanse of snow undisturbed save where he had guided his horse. The snow was falling slow and steady and he knew there was a solid layer of it on his hair by now. His exterior was as cold as the snow he sat unmoving in, his clothing soaked through and his rear growing numb, though whether from the position or the chill he could not tell. The Two Trees alive and dead were visions he could only ever conjure in his imagination. While that was still true for the former, the rottenness and gnarled scarring in their lifeless husks went beyond anything he had envisioned and were hardly a sight to induce any good feeling. Mithrandir was right. This was no pleasant place, even in the peaceful snowfall of winter.

"Elrond?"

He gave a small shake of his head and his voice was soft. "Think not it is something profound, Mithrandir. This is not my first visit to Ezellohar, though it is in winter. I was only curious, trying to guess at the sight of the Trees in all their glory during this particular season. How their Light might shine in the snow, in the snowfall….It is quite the sight to imagine."

Mithrandir regarded him for a long moment, pursing his lips. "Winter did not exist in their lifetime, Elrond," he pointed out. "You are a master of lore as few others. I should not have to tell you this."

Elrond smiled fully at his laconic tone, his heart lightening. "I know that," he drawled. "Elladan and Elrohir asked it when they were three."

"Did they?"

"Yes." The smile remained, turning into one of soft affection. "When they learned that Glorfindel had lived in the Light of the Trees, they pestered him for details, as far demanding what it looked like during the winter months. In which Glorfindel then explained that there was no winter, which my boys could not understand, which then led Glorfindel into having to explain just why there was no winter." He harrumphed. "Fathom clarifying that to two children of only three years. He did his best. I cringed. Erestor laughed. It was a good day." Warmth spread through him at the memory. "I just recalled it all of the sudden today."

Mithrandir's voice was tender. "You miss your sons."

Elrond looked away, hands briefly clenching where they were wrapped around his knees. "Of course I do." He was quiet for several moments and the lance of pain was sharp in his chest. "It feels so long now that I cannot speak. Nor does Celebrían, but I know her heart, the turning of her thoughts. There are times I am furious I did not remain, regardless of how worn I was. Furious with myself I did not drag my children onto that ship with me. All of them." His chest tightened and it was all he could do to keep it all at bay, just all shoved down and away. "Arwen decided to stay. My boys know nothing but Middle-earth and their love for those lands is great. A love I know, for I would have stayed a while longer if I had not been so weary." He closed his eyes tight, the swelling in his chest moving up to his throat and he forced in a deep, shaking breath. "It has been so many years."

"Many ships have yet to come. I am sure Glorfindel or their grandfather will convince them to board one if they are uncertain. Do not despair yet, my friend. Though you picked a fine place to dwell in despair if such was your goal. You always were good at that."

Elrond found himself grinning in spite of himself and he looked at the other in mild appreciation. He shook his head, trying his best to shake off the melancholy. "You Maiar do not help. I have seen it enough, one of you approaching an Elf or another to tell them of family who is sailing. Whenever I see one I find myself expecting, hoping the message is for my wife and me, only to discover that it is not." He paused, turning a curious glance on Mithrandir. "Is it always like that? You coming to us Elves?"

He nodded, beard bristling. "When someone is sailing, the Valar will send one of us to bring the good tidings to the Elf's friends or family, simply to ensure that they may be greeted by someone known to them when they come ashore. To be escorted, if you will, into this new land and people."

Elrond was nodding, turning his gaze back out to the Trees. "A courtesy any host would bestow upon newcomers."

"Precisely. That it causes such joyous reunions is but a coincidence, you understand."

He snorted in good humor. "Coincidence, sure." Mithrandir's soft laughter warmed him and the corners of his mouth quirked upward. "Is it also a coincidence you bring such tidings to them on days of festivity more often than not, such as the one in three days and others throughout the year?"

"No. Can you name better days for such announcements?" He grinned cheekily, which quickly relaxed into one more sincere. "It gladdens us when we may deliver true means of celebration. We brought word to your sweet lady of your own voyage across the sea during the Merendë Yavanniëo, and she mayhap remembers it every year after on the day."

Elrond looked over in mild surprise, eyes softening as he thought. "She did not say."

"No matter." Mithrandir suddenly stood, evidently not bothering to shake off the snow from his attire, instead holding an aged hand out to him. "Rise, Elrond, and return you home. Sitting here alone with only morose thoughts for company and after what happened in Lórien does you no good. The Merendë Andohrívëo is in three days. Go and make merry with those friends and family you  _do_  have with you at the moment. If you continue your journey now, you will just make it."

Elrond grasped the hand and rose, brushing himself down from the clinging snow, though there was none to sweep off his rear seeing as all of it had melted into his leggings. He raised his eyebrows at Mithrandir, a glimmer of amusement brightening his eyes. "Is that why you are here, to shoo me off?" The palfrey clopped forward at a gesture and he made quick work of clearing the dusting of snow from her back. He mounted, adjusting the saddlebags back into balance.

"Well, you were not listening to your friend." He gestured towards the palfrey and she jerked her head up with a snort, as if in agreement. "I could only encourage her so much before she began to grow annoyed with me."

Elrond made a face, though he patted at her neck fondly. "She is annoyed easily."

Mithrandir reached out to fondle her snout as he looked up, his grey gaze solemn. "If you find it within you to hear me, put your quarrel in Lórien behind you for the nonce. Let it not soil what joy you may find this week, dear one."

"Perhaps I shall." Elrond grinned. "Celebrían would not let me remain so sour as it is." He bowed his head. "Farewell, Mithrandir. I hope to see you again. Soon and more frequently, mind you," he added pointedly.

He chuckled. "And happily so, Child." He jerked his head eastward past the Trees. "Off you go."

And he did. With a fond smile and a wave, Elrond clicked his tongue and the horse responded, going slowly at first to descend the slope of the hill.

Mithrandir stood there, snow dancing around him as he watched him go, riding on and on until he was barely visible in the haze of white. He nodded to himself, humming under his breath. And then his form shifted, growing brighter, taller, both younger and older, beautiful of cosmic proportions and eyes of such radiance they eclipsed that of the stars.

He hummed again in consideration. "And perhaps a fellow Maia with news will be visiting you in three days," he said quietly. A smile creased his ethereal face even as he faded from sight, the scent of apples and mint lingering on the air.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for "datcilly" on tumblr for the tolkiensecretsanta2017. She requested Gandalf and Elrond and I actually really loved writing this, particularly taking it to a time and place I've literally never written in before. I'm way late getting this up on ao3, but better late than never and all that. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Merendë Andohrívëo: Winter Solstice celebration, lit. "Festival of the Gates of Winter"  
> Merendë Yavanniëo: "Festival of Yavanna", taking place in Autumn or in our September  
> Mirroanwi: incarnates, those "put into flesh" [Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth MR.350]


End file.
